


Powerless

by Aeacus



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Derse/Prospit Royalty, Blood, Blood and Gore, Character Death, Derse Dreamers, Forced Prostitution, Gore, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Prospit, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-08
Updated: 2014-12-08
Packaged: 2018-02-28 17:21:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2740703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aeacus/pseuds/Aeacus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jake is taken back to Derse by Dirk Strider on what he thinks is a vacationy visit to the Prince’s moon. Set with the dreamers, with a pre-established relationship from when Dirk and Jake had been on Prospit. There is a lot more to the background of the story that will probably never be explained.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Powerless

His heart is beating so loudly that he’s sure that it’s echoing down the purple tinted hallways. He shouldn’t be here. Nothing in his entire life prepared him for this. This is not how it was supposed to go. He’s terrified beyond belief, beyond movement or fight. None of the soft whispers and murmured words against his skin could soothe him. This isn’t right.

He doesn’t know where the path went wrong, where in his steps to get here did he step wrong, because he had to have stepped wrong because this isn’t right. This couldn’t be what is supposed to happen. Skia wouldn’t have allowed it.

Dirk had switched personalities as soon as they set foot on the purple moon. Turning from the sweet and charming boyfriend to something darker and twisted. Dirk had never touched him, pulled at him, manhandled him like this on Prospit. Through the shades in this light, his eyes look eerie and wrong. On Prospit they were golden and bright.

Dirk orders him into the room, the lavish bed the only place to sit. Jake can feel Dirk’s eyes, those purple tinged eyes looking like Dirk will devour him. It makes his breath catch in his throat. Where is the loving looks that Dirk would give him over Skian clouds? Before he has a chance to catch his breath, Dirk is against him, pushing him back against the bed. His legs hit the edge of the bed and he sits down just how Dirk wants him to. Dirk doesn’t leave him but stays close.

Jake shudders as Dirk leans in and places his lips against his neck. His skin is cold against his hot pulse. Cold and slick and Jake doesn’t want any more but he is unable to lift his hand to push Dirk away. Dirk tilts Jake’s head back to get to more skin over the collar of his golden shirt. Jake clenches his hand, the bed covers bunching up and giving only plush resistance and he tries to fight his lungs from collapsing as they burn from lack of fresh air.

“Breathe for me love.”

Jake obeys despite any desire too. It would be better to pass out and skip all the is coming to him. All that will happen next. He knows what is coming, Dirk told him in the hallway. He’s terrified.

“Dirk, stop.”

“Oh come on, English. I know you want this as much as I do.”

“No.”

“Don’t tell me no.”

Dirk pushes him down against the bed, his knee coming up as leverage against him, cornering him and pushing him back onto the bed until he lies down entirely. This isn’t what he wants, but Dirk isn’t listening. Why isn’t he listening? Dirk always listens to him ramble on about his movies and adventures and his daydreams in the Skian clouds. But now, now he won’t even listen to a simple no.

“No.”

Dirk ignores him and slings his leg over Jakes hip, straddling him. Jake weakly brings his hands up to Dirk’s chest but Dirk just takes his wrists and presses him to the bed. He’s trapped.

Jake looks to the side, looks anywhere but at Dirk’s face. It’s not right. Not right. Not right at all. He’s not Dirk. He’s not the Dirk that Jake knows. Dirk wouldn’t do this to him. Dirk wouldn’t ignore his pleas. Dirk wouldn’t... wouldn’t... wouldn’t take him like this even if Jake wanted him. He wouldn’t.

But he is.

Dirk kisses him firmly, cold lips pressing down against his. His tongue slips in and it’s an invasion. It’s slimy and disgusting. It sweeps through his mouth, running over his teeth and brushing against his tongue. Jake knows he should fight, he should bite down on it. But he can’t hurt Dirk. Even if this isn’t his Dirk. He could never hurt him. Instead a tear leaks out the side of his eyes and rolls down his cheek.

Dirk finally breaks off the kiss and sits up. He gives a warning squeeze to Jake’s wrist to keep him from moving before he lets go. Jake once again obeys. Or maybe he’s just too scared to move. Dirk reaches up and takes Jake’s glasses off, setting them aside. Jake shivers as Dirk strokes his cheek.

“Dirk, please, st-” Dirk’s fingers press against his lips, stopping the word.

Dirk sits up a little bit more and pulls his shirt up. Any other situation, Jake wouldn’t mind looking at his bare chest, but right now it just solidifies the fears running through his mind. He tosses the purple away again, shades still in place and the look he gives Jake terrifies him.

Dirk leans over again, pressing himself against Jake. Jake's hand instinctively comes up to his neck and back. He’s so cold. Dirk takes the movement as an invitation. Or maybe he was going to do it anyways. Dirk goes back to kissing his neck while Jake grits his teeth. Dirk’s hand comes up under his thigh and brings it up against Dirk’s hips which grind down against Jake’s. It makes him feel sick.

Dirk’s other hand slides in between them and slides underneath his shirt. Cold fingers skitter across his chest causing goosebumps to cover his skin. He doesn’t want this. He doesn’t want any of this. Dirk slides the shirt up to his shoulders and then pulls back, pulling Jake up with him. He tugs the shirt up and over Jake’s head, tossing the golden cloth away like he had his other personality. That’s the only thing that Jake can make of this situation. The Derse moon makes him change personalities, made Dirk turn evil because this was not his Dirk, this was not his Dirk that he spent golden afternoons sitting with on the tower roof. His Dirk wouldn’t shove him back against the cold bed. His Dirk wouldn’t be so cold pressed against him. His Dirk wouldn’t forcibly kiss him through protests. His Dirk wouldn’t slide his hands down Jake’s sides and push at his pants until they slide off of his hips.

Jake throws an arm over his face as if that would help hide his nakedness in front of this other Dirk. He can’t bear to look as he hears the rustle of clothing as first his pants are discarded and then more as Dirk disrobes as well. His body is so cold as Dirk presses the entire length of his body against Jake’s, this time with nothing between them.

“Dirk, stop, please no.” His voice is nearly silent through the sobs. Tears stream down his face.

“I’ll make you feel good. I’ll make you enjoy it, love. Trust me. When I slip inside of you, when I pound this plush ass of yours, when you take me and squeeze around me, you will cry out my name. You’ll cry out for me, English. You are mine after all. You came willingly with me. They gave you to me.”

In a moment of clarity Jake figures out what those parting looks from John and Jade meant. Jane was absent. How did they know? What deal did they make?

“As Prince of Derse, I’ve decided that you are to be my consort. My lover. Mine to do whatever I please with. For as long as I want. Doesn’t that sound pleasant, lover?” Dirk shouldn’t be calling him lover when Jake knows what he really is.

Jake is his Prospit whore.

* * *

Dirk leaves him to curl up in his shame. He’s not as sore as he thought he would be. Not physically. The emotional abuse however will leave scars. He feels so betrayed. By Dirk. By his family and friends at home. By Skia.

Dirk’s off in the small room to the side. Most likely the bathroom that Jake failed to notice before. Jake feels like he could use it. To throw up in. To purge himself of everything that happened. But right now he’s too tired. He’s even too tired to cry. He feels like a husk of his former self. He would say empty but the roiling in his gut makes an untruth.

He hears Dirk finishing up in the bathroom and panic grips him. Dirk promised that he would come right back for more. Jake doesn’t want more. He finds enough impetus to get to his feet. He stumbles across the room to the wall with the door. The door is locked with a key. He doesn’t even remember Dirk locking it but he must have the key somewhere. Jake paws at the wall trying to find it. Find something to help himself out of this situation. He finds shelves of baubles that won’t help him. Pretty things. He finds his glasses on it like a trophy of someone, something he conquered. Jake puts them on and stares in horror at the rest of the items.

He moves farther down the wall and comes across something. It’s not the key but...

“English, what are you doing? Come back to bed.”

He can’t obey. He can’t.

“English. Come here.”

Jake finds himself shaking his head and mouthing the word but no voice comes out.

“English. You are mine. I told you to come here.” There is danger in his tone.

“No,” he whispers.

“English.” The voice is right behind him. He grabs and turns on his heel fast, faster than Dirk was expecting based on the shock on his face. Dirk is frozen there as if comprehending what happened. Jake can almost not believe it himself and he’s the one who... who...

He draws the sword out and blood gushes forward. He shoves it back in, making another wound. Dirk gasps as he tries to breathe but that is hampered by a stab to his chest that slides in between his ribs. Blood paints his pale lips. Tears stream down Jake’s face, mixing with the blood splatter that some off the blade. On the next thrust Dirk stumbles a step back. Jake follows him with another. And another. And another.

Dirk eventually falls to the ground, first to his knees and then falling back as Jake stabs his throat. Dirk slides off of his sword. Life bubbles out of his wounds and fades from his eyes  as minced organs ooze out of the gaping holes in his torso.

The bloody sword clatters to the ground. The red is nearly black in the low purple light. Jake can’t breathe. He can’t move. He can’t hurt his Dirk. Yet Dirk’s body lays there on the ground in front of him.

“What have I done?” He falls back against the door. This time when he puts his hand out to catch himself he hits the shelf to the unexplored side and something clatters to the ground. He blinks at it, trying to see through his tears. It was a key.

With shaky hands he picks it up. He fumbles and nearly drops it again before he slots it into the hole. It turns under his hand that the door swings open. He sobs louder. If he had found that first instead of the... Then maybe...

He shakes his head. He can’t change the past. He can only run. But where can he run to? He just killed the prince of Derse. He was betrayed by those on Prospit. Where did he have left? Where could he go?

He sees the three other towers of the Derse royalty. He couldn’t trust Dave; he had just killed his brother. He couldn’t go to Rose; she has to be part of the deal that ended up with him here, shaking and naked in the hallways of the purple world. Roxy. Roxy was always sympathetic to him. He makes his best guess for her tower and runs there.

Blood drips from his hands until it dries on his skin. His lungs burn from exertion and emotion. His head spins and tries to hide from the memories of what just happened. He hides in the shadows and slips into the tower. His muscles scream against all of the steps up but eventually he gets to the top and bursts into the bedroom.

Roxy is sitting there at her computer. She casually turns to look at him as he stands there naked and covered in dried blood, hunched over and panting.

“Roxy... help...”

“Well, that went faster than planned. Thank you for taking him out. Now be a good boy and die quietly.”

He stares at her as she raises the rifle, casual in her aiming, but of course the bullet flies true and pierces his heart. He still can’t even react as he falls backwards away from the door and falls against the harsh purple stone steps. He does not make a sound as he dies.

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is probably the most gruesome thing I've written and I don't even know why I wrote it. It definitely wasn't something I was supposed to be writing. I wrote this based on a fan video that came across my dash. It's not exact but close enough.


End file.
